


get the colors just right

by princessoftheworlds



Series: The Many Lives and Lies of Jack Harkness [2]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Future Fic, M/M, Masturbation, Mentioned Ianto Jones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:49:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24613321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessoftheworlds/pseuds/princessoftheworlds
Summary: The lone spaceship idling through the empty obscurity of space could be anywhere and any when in the universe, but the man wedged into the narrow bunk in the spaceship’s only cabin is well-known to time and space. His name is Jack Harkness, and he’s a constant, a fixed point. (Some might even go as far as to say that he himself is wrong , but that is a story for another time and place.) What does matter is that this man, Jack Harkness, has loved and lost more than imaginable. He has loved some of the best people in the universe, and he has always lost then.But there is one man in particular Jack is thinking about when he strips off his trousers and places his hand at the base of his cock. This man’s name is Ianto Jones, and he had been an extraordinary Welshman in an otherwise ordinary twenty-first century Cardiff. Jack had loved him, too much perhaps, and Jack had lost him as well.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Series: The Many Lives and Lies of Jack Harkness [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1779442
Comments: 6
Kudos: 36





	get the colors just right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [transjackianto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/transjackianto/gifts).



> This idea came to me during dinner last night, and then Kai convinced me to actually write it. So blame Kai for the sad. All the sad. The very sad sad.

The lone spaceship idling through the empty obscurity of space could be anywhere and any _when_ in the universe, but the man wedged into the narrow bunk in the spaceship’s only cabin is well-known to time and space. His name is Jack Harkness, and he’s a constant, a fixed point. (Some might even go as far as to say that he himself is _wrong_ , but that is a story for another time and place.) What does matter is that this man, Jack Harkness, has loved and lost more than imaginable. He has loved some of the best people in the universe, and he has always lost then.

But there is one man in particular Jack is thinking about when he strips off his trousers and places his hand at the base of his cock. This man’s name is Ianto Jones, and he had been an extraordinary Welshman in an otherwise ordinary twenty-first century Cardiff. Jack had loved him, too much perhaps, and Jack had lost him as well. 

It is Ianto Jones whom Jack pictures when he slicks his palm up and strokes his cock from base to tip, pulling his old lover into his mind’s eye. 

Ianto Jones had been a man of multitudes. His eyes had been one of the most unique shades of blue Jack had ever seen, reminiscent of the stormy skies during an October rain in Cardiff. And his lips, flat and soft, but Ianto had known how to use them well, trailing them over Jack’s body or slotting his mouth over Jack’s. That man had known how to _kiss_.

Jack hisses as his grip on his cock tightens, stroking upwards, and he rubs the slight vein that protrudes along his cock, remembering how Ianto used to trace along it with his tongue. His eyes flutter shut to the image of Ianto on his knees, mouth tightened around his cock, eyes locked with Jack’s own and conveying a breadth of emotion: humor, patience, lust, but most importantly, _love_.

Ianto’s voice had been another one of his best features, those Welsh vowels Jack had adored so much. He’s met so many Welshmen, but none of them have ever sounded like Ianto Jones, so deliberately precise with his words. That deep baritone that Ianto had tried so hard to train out of its rough Welshness into something more posh and enunciated became gravelly during sex, when Ianto began to tumble closer to the edge. He’d once brought Jack to orgasm using his words and voice alone.

_You crave to be known_ , _Jack_ , Ianto had once told him, thumbing two fingers against Jack’s prostate, the other man bent over his own desk. _You act so mysterious and evolved, but in the end, like all men, you just want to be known._ He’d punctuated his words with a savage twist of his fingers inside Jack and a cruel bite to the base of Jack’s neck, and Jack had yelped and whimpered when Ianto had soothed the bite with a tender kiss.

Later, when Ianto had fucked Jack against the glass walls of his office, he’d harshly murmured into Jack’s ear, _I know you, Jack_. _I know_ _you_. Even later: _Let it out, Jack. Let go_. _I’ve got you_. And Jack had come, not with a bang, but with another whimper, clutching at Ianto’s curls, tears leaking from his shut eyes.

_Ianto_ , Jack thinks now, much _much_ later, and Ianto’s voice answers him with an echo in Jack’s mind: _I know you, Jack_.

“Ianto,” Jack gasps, twisting his hand near the base of his cock just like Ianto used to whilst stroking him. He reaches his other hand to play with his balls, pressing his back into the baseboard of the bunk for balance. He’s stopped listing out features of Ianto in his mind and is now thinking of Ianto as a whole.

The last proper day Jack had spent with Ianto, before everything with the children and the 456 had begun, had been a Sunday. The Rift had stayed quiet, a rare occasion, and so Jack had given them the day off, leaving Gwen to man the Hub. They’d stayed cooped in Ianto’s tiny flat, curled up on the couch.

_“I have to say,” Ianto admits, gently stroking Jack’s hair as the other man cuddles back against his chest. “I’m still expecting_ something _to happen. The Rift isn’t usually so kind to us.”_

_Jack lifts his head sleepily. “Why would you say that? Why would you tempt the Rift?” He peers up at Ianto through his lashes. “Do you not like this? Us together?”_

_Ianto is left fumbling for words. His lips part and shut several times until he finally spots the mischievous expression on Jack’s handsome face. “Oh, you_ bastard _.” He wrestles Jack off his chest, pressing him flat on his back against the couch._

_“I like this better,” Jack tells him, “you on top of me.” He smirks widely, reaching up to lightly flick Ianto’s nose._

_“You’re just lazy,” admonishes Ianto playfully. He reaches out to trap Jack’s finger in his hand and gently nips it. Then he cranes his neck to slot his mouth to Jack’s. They kiss, soft and idly, absolutely fitting for a Sunday morning lie-in._

_“You’re right,” Jack answers brightly when they finally break apart for air. “Why should I do any of the work when I can like back and have a handsome, blue-eyed Welshman just_ take _me?”_

_Ianto tosses his head back, lips curled into a loose smile and those_ blue eyes _sparkling with delight, and laughs, a wonderful quiet sound that sends shivers and sparks fluttering down Jack’s spine._

“Oh, _oh_ ,” groans Jack, his grasp on his cock tightening and his strokes speeding up and shortening, “oh, _fuck_ …. _Ianto_!”

With a strangled moan, he doubles over in pleasure and comes, the image of Ianto laughing seared into his mind, cock spurting out thick ropey lines of Jack’s release over his bare chest and over the sheets of the bunk. Exhausted, Jack falls back limp against bunk, shivering.

Then he turns, curls up on his side, and begins to sob, miserable, messy, and _oh so_ lonely.

_I know you, Jack_. _I know_ _you_.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [here](http://princess-of-the-worlds.tumblr.com/) or on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/rajkumarinik) to let me know how much you liked this fic or request a prompt. Also, please comment or drop a line below even if it's to telling me how you've been doing. I thrive on kudos and social interaction, especially in this day and age.


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